


Good Tidings

by channyfaith



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Add a dash of Christmas magic, F/M, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Slightly Pining Sherlock, Working Through Problems, christmas time fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 08:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5532044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/channyfaith/pseuds/channyfaith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An annual Christmas Eve party at Baker Street means confined feelings are bound to come out of a rather smitten consulting detective, and a kindhearted pathologist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Tidings

It’s Christmas eve, and the now annual party at Baker Street is taking place. Decorations are up surprisingly, a fire is roaring, and Sherlock has only grumbled a couple of times after being asked to play some Christmas carols on his violin for Mrs. Hudson. All in all there is just general merrymaking taking place with gifts being exchanged, and laughter drifting through the air as the small number of guests eat their fill, and drink maybe a bit too much alcohol. 

After almost being sentenced to his death the year before, Sherlock doesn’t complain (well he doesn’t think the grumbling counts as complaining anyway). No, in a small, secret place in his heart he revels in having the company over this Christmas. 

Most of the guests don’t seem to spot the change in him, except for perhaps Molly Hooper who had been eyeing the detective for most of the night. Her large, brown eyes looking as if they knew his every secret. 

Things with Molly were still a little awkward to say the least, what with him being high, insulting her, getting slapped, and then shot. He was later exiled not long after that, until Moriarty’s menacing face appeared on nearly every television, phone, and computer screen all over the world. Sherlock would never forget the sick feeling he felt in his stomach, his brain not fully comprehending at the time that it wasn’t really Moriarty, but a trick. A stupid trick played by an even stupider criminal that he quickly helped find once they let him off of the plane. 

It might have all been a trick, but he couldn’t stop himself from rushing to Bart’s to see Molly as soon as he got off of the private jet that was meant to fly him to his death. She was visibly shaken up, but fine. Safe. Alive. 

Despite all of that, things were still not the same between them. It was as if there was a wall, a wall neither one of them had yet attempted to breech. He wasn’t avoiding her, not necessarily anyway. 

Sherlock honestly just did not know how to talk to Molly Hooper anymore, what with the way her dimpled smiles made his heart flutter, or how she was now the one making him a stuttering, nervous twit! Sherlock resisted the urge to growl in frustration, because despite the way the small pathologist made him feel, he still found himself drawn to her in a way that he could never explain. 

Even now he found himself edging towards her, crossing the room to stand before her. “Are you enjoying yourself this evening?” he blurts out suddenly, and maybe a pinch too loudly, but he tries his best not scowl as Molly shoots him one of those breathtaking smiles that seem to always make his knees wobble.

“Oh hello, Sherlock. Yes, I am. It’s been really lovely. Nice antlers by the way,” she says as she points to the headpiece that Mrs. Hudson forced upon his head only two hours earlier. He hadn’t ripped them off the very minute they touched his head, and surprisingly enough he had forgotten that they were resting there. 

Blushing like mad, Sherlock had half a mind to get rid of them immediately, but Molly just giggled in a friendly sort of way, and patted the open spot beside of her on the sofa, offering for him to sit there as well. 

Honestly, Molly had no right to make fun of his antlers, what with her wearing one of the gaudiest red bows he had ever seen right on top of her head. Somehow though, it suited Molly, and it was more endearing to see her wearing it than anything else. 

“So….” Sherlock began. “So….” Molly repeated, obviously still finding it a little difficult to talk to him as well. 

Sherlock cleared his throat, and looked around the room for a moment before stating, “I saw your entry in Modern Pathology.”

“Did you?” Moll asks, perking up a little, her grin brightening even more so, if that were possible. 

“I did indeed. The entire piece was a spectacular read, but that was no surprise coming from you,” Sherlock replies, and he notices how Molly’s cheeks redden just the slightest bit, and she quickly looks down at her hands which are lying in her lap. 

“Thank you. That’s kind of you to say,” she murmurs, and just like that it was like the wall that was between them was beginning to crumble, and fall. 

Sherlock continued to speak with her about her paper, and Molly spoke animatedly about it before she began asking him about recent cases. She wasn’t as in the know since he seemed to not be coming around to Bart’s as much, or if he was coming around, it was when she was not on the clock. 

Little by little, guests began to leave, but the couple on the sofa was still swept up in their current conversation of how well a dead body might be preserved on a cold winter’s night like this, and didn’t seem to notice at all. In fact they both felt as if they were the only two people in the room. 

“Hoo hoo!” Mrs. Hudson says softly, interrupting the two on the sofa. “I’ll just be heading down now, dears. Need those herbal soothers for my hip. Have a happy Christmas!” And with that, the older landlady turns, a suspicious little smile on her face as she makes her way down to her flat. 

Molly blinks, and looks around, realizing that all of the other guests were gone, and she and Sherlock were the only ones left in his flat. 

“Oh my! I didn’t mean to over stay my welcome,” Molly says, and attempts to quickly try to move off of the sofa, but Sherlock grabs her arm, preventing her hasty escape. 

“You never could. Over stay your welcome that is,” Sherlock assures her, his voice a deep baritone that made Molly feel as if she were melting. “I have a gift for you this time actually,” he adds, his voice just as deep, but sounding a little nervous somehow. 

Standing, Sherlock went to collect his violin, and after positioning himself in front of Molly as if he were about to preform a recital, he lifted his bow, and began to play. 

The sounds that followed were the most enticing, haunting, and beautifully played music that Molly had ever heard. She wasn’t sure how long she sat there listening, perhaps minutes, or maybe even hours, but all she knew was that this was one of the greatest gifts anyone had ever given her. 

Sherlock was speaking, not with words, but with notes and rhythm, and her heart was rejoicing in her chest, happy tears pricking her eyes, threatening to spill out. 

When the detective finished, he finally opened his eyes, and he looked horrified to see Molly sitting there crying. “Did my playing disturb you? Honestly, Molly I-” 

“No. No that was gorgeous, Sherlock. Thank you so much,” Molly interrupts him, and stands up from her place on the sofa as she edges towards him, a passionate spark hidden behind her tear brimmed eyes. 

“I have a gift for you too, but before I give you your gift, I wanted to give you something else,” she says, her voice a near purr now, and Sherlock could only stand there and stare as she lifted her petite frame onto her tiptoes, and pressed her small (but not too small) lips onto his rather stunned mouth. 

After a moment Sherlock relaxed, and he honestly wished that Molly had given him time to set his instrument down, because he longed for nothing more than to wrap his arms around her body, and bring her ever closer to him as he ravished her mouth with his own plush lips. 

There would be plenty of time for ravishing later however, especially after Sherlock opened Molly’s gift to him, which was an antique book on beekeeping. He was honestly touched, and he leaned forward to kiss the pathologist over and over again until his antlers were pushed off of his head onto the floor along with her gaudy, red bow. 

After that it wasn’t such a silent night, but no one, especially Mrs. Hudson in her herbal soother induced sleep, was none the wiser.

**Author's Note:**

> My very first little ficlet type thing, and my first work I'm putting on AO3 period. What started off as a headcanon sort of got away from me, and I decided to post it here. This has not been Beta'd, so be kind, though constructive criticism is always welcome. I'm not certain how often I will write, but maybe this could be the start of something new.


End file.
